


Chypre

by FantaMamaLima



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Chronic Pain, Cyborg: 76, M/M, Non-sexual massage, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 08:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11331948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantaMamaLima/pseuds/FantaMamaLima
Summary: The first touch is a stroke, loving and careful, as if it was their first night sleeping together decades ago. Reinhardt feverently traces the uneven bump-bump-bump of healthy skin and stretches of scarrings. Jack squeaks when the stroke changes into soft kneading. Each of the stubby thighs are wrapped in one big hand and Jack must remember again how physically different he and his lover are now.Jack is having a bad day, thanks to his prosthetic, so Reinhardt tries to help him.





	Chypre

Pain is something Jack know for years. The blooming ache after taking a punch, the burn he feels from open wounds, the white-hot agony that comes with broken bones; he knows them thoroughly. It will be absurd if Jack doesn’t get used to those physical sufferings after being a soldier for so long.

 

And yet, this grating pain on his marrow bones still gives him a new kind of hell. A hell where his muscle locked and his bones twinged in cold days, making him grit his teeth and clench his sheets. A hell which, even after Ana coddling and Angela’s heating pads, never cease. 

 

There is a knock on his door and Jack curses without voice. He had told Winston to not let anyone come to his room, but someone clearly didn’t get the note. Jack waits for a moment, two, then receive another stubborn knock. With a groan Jack gets to his feet and opens the door, uncaring of how his whole body protests him.

 

Outside his room, Reinhardt stands tall and apologetic. Jack scowls. “What.”

 

“I can help you, Jack,” the giant speaks softly, not really a rare occurrence just between the two of them. “I know winter has come to Gibraltar.”

 

The pain wrack Jack’s body suddenly and his grip on the handle tighten for a moment. When it passes, Jack exhales noisily. Without looking up, Jack answers. “No thanks.”

 

As Jack swings his door shut, a huge, scarred hand grasps his orange non-organic wrist. “Wait, Schatzi,” Reinhardt pleads, even using an old nickname Jack doesn’t know how to respond. “I… I have salve and balm, all repurposed for Crusaders.”

 

It isn’t warm, per se, the touch on his wrist–but it abates the chill, and Jack tries his best not to lean himself into the contact. But it’s hard, to stop himself from getting a little bit of comfort and rest between the merciless pain. With another wave of pain running through him, Jack finally relents. “Whatever,” he hisses coldly.

 

Jack’s everyday exchange with Reinhardt, past the initial shock and disappointment, is unusually easy. Jack still feels uncomfortable about the fact that he let his lover mourned alone, while Reinhardt selflessly just wants nothing but to build back their old relationship. Both of them tread this new territory lightly, to Jack’s immense relief, so it is surprising that Reinhardt is willing to do something further than saying soft good mornings and good nights in passing. He will be quite elated, in fact, by this visit, if only he isn’t having such a bad day.

 

Regardless of the bitter way Jack answer him, Reinhardt still beams when he enters the spartan bedroom. He watches Jack stiffens in pain before lying back in the single bed, eyes closed and chest heaving with exertion. A beat, then two, all left in silence, before Jack sits up using one hand for bracing himself and the other for holding his knee junctures. He looks annoyed and abashed in equal measure and Reinhardt suppresses a chuckle.

 

Rigidly, Jack removes his right calf, starting from unlatching the knee cap. The yellow light dimmed to indicate offlining, then he moves to take a screwdriver from bedside table and loosen the metal from the back. With a double snapping motion, the limb has been detached from Jack’s thigh. Rough fingers click the inner adapters, and Jack can feel Reinhardt scrutinizing the ugly scarring that revealed under titanium alloy. The cyborg sigh before he does his other calf.

 

Finished with his lower half, Jack swung his hand to beckon Reinhardt. “Ugh. Hey,” Jack calls, “come here. This part’s gonna be tricky.”

 

The giant delicately sat in front of Jack, who twists two protruding tubes from his left shoulder. “This is the lock,” Jack says calmly. “I can take my arms after I twist these two, but it’ll be painful. This here,” Jack traces a grey clasp, “need to be slided off first.” Jack’s left hand went limp and a panelling goes up. “Pull this, and done.” Jack slowly yank the disconnected hand and it goes slowly. “Now do the right hand.” The cyborg is stretching his right arm out, showing a full display of orange-yellow external wirings for Reinhardt to watch.

 

Both of them know that this is somehow a test, for trust between the two of them and inside themselves. Jack knows Reinhardt feels too clumsy to handle new equipments, and he wants to know whether or not Reinhardt sees him as a simple war gear. Reinhardt knows the only person who has the clearance to detach these artificial body parts is Ana, and it’s only for the worst case scenarios.

 

They sit quietly there, silence only diffused by Lucio’s bass from the hallway. Then Reinhardt moves, taking the yellow carbon fiber hand Jack places between them.

 

“Tell me if I hurt you, yes?” 

 

Jack only nods, because he suddenly feels completely vulnerable and knows he won’t find his voice if he tried. 

 

The giant is gentle, big fingers working on the tubes delicately. A soft sigh, almost inaudible from other white noises, rang clear between the two men after Reinhardt severe the system from Jack’s body. They don’t know who did it, they don’t really care, as now Jack sits unstable in his bed and Reinhardt just want to take the soldier closer. So Reinhardt does, after saying, “Excuse me,” and Jack instantly falls into the embrace.

 

It was nearly obscene, the size difference between them. Jack’s whole body only takes half of Reinhardt’s torso, his stumps of legs dangle near the titan’s lower hip. Reinhardt realizes that even with only one hand, he still can carry Jack whole, if the latter ever wanted him to. Jack also becomes aware that he won’t be able to do anything if Athena rang the emergency alarms right now. At this moment, every cell of Jack is now clutched by the gentle bulk of a man that loves him with his very beings. And Jack is willing to experience the continuous grating pain inside his bones if he always get a chance to have  _ this _ .

 

Time passes in stillness. Pain comes and goes at leisure, leaving the smaller man wincing regularly. But the skinship helps, albeit a little. Having such a huge man holding him feels glorious, all of Jack’s senses are shrouded in Reinhardt’s whole frame. Reluctantly Jack whispers, “Wil?” 

 

“Yes,” readily Reinhardt answers. In a moment Jack found himself laid on his bed, back to the headboard and his lover bracing him from every side. Reinhardt shuffles for a moment, then he produce two short jars with colorless filling. He works the opening open and Jack can feel oak moss and musk and patchouli fill his nostrils, the scent of Reinhardt accumulated into one place–a little jar of balm.

 

The first touch is a stroke, loving and careful, as if it was their first night sleeping together decades ago. Reinhardt feverently traces the uneven bump-bump-bump of healthy skin and stretches of scarrings. Jack squeaks when the stroke changes into soft kneading. Each of the stubby thighs are wrapped in one big hand and Jack must remember again how physically different he and his lover are now. 

 

At one point, warmness starts to burst inside Jack’s skin at every touch and the cyborg groans happily. The ointment is working, maximizing Reinhardt massage into something heavenly. The giant knows what he is doing, after years of tending to sore spot left from battles. Jack exhales noisily, before opening his closed eyes – since when did he close them in the first place?–and stare at the giant.

 

In front of him, with tongue peeking from the corner of his lips, sits Reinhardt with all of his glory. Jack smiles at it, making Reinhardt huffs. “I love you,” Jack declares.

 

Reinhardt stops to stare at the sky blue eyes. “I love you too, Schatzi.”

 

“Good, then carry on Wil.” Jack commands the other man teasingly, and Reinhardt laughs, hands starting to knead again.

 

Further into the night and into the massage, Jack’s boxer briefs and sleeveless tee are being abandoned so that Reinhardt can have a full access. Jack feels exhilarated for being so open and vulnerable, and he kind of feel he is getting addicted to this. (And oh, does Reinhardt know that.)

 

A scentless salve is rubbed after the throughout massage, adding warmth that seeps into Jack’s bones, before Reinhardt moves on into Jack’s torso. There, they need to improvise, with four additional tubing and outer unremovable cable on Jack’s back, Reinhardt can only do so much. 

 

“Okay?” Reinhardt queries while he presses his knuckles to Jack’s shoulder blades. 

 

“Uh-huh, yeah–” sighs, “–totally, totally.”

 

“Here?” Now the hands are on Jack’s upper arm stubs, rubbing affectionately. Jack merely nods, mouth busy with grunting his pleasure. “Okay then....” Reinhardt yet again moves. “How about this?” he asks, hands kneading on the smaller man’s shoulder.

 

“Fuck,” Jack whines, “where are you all these time, Wil?”

 

“Oh you know, waiting for you in my room.” Reinhardt answers with humor. Jack will be chuckling if he isn’t being sent to paradise right now. Reinhardt works the muscle and knots under the skin diligently, pressure never too little or too much. He uses his whole hands and attention for making Jack feels better, and Jack sure does voice his enjoyment. The scarring and dent from musculature chassis are grotesque, even on his torso, thus Reinhardt ensures that he give bigger scrutiny into those areas.

 

Reinhardt can see clearly with his one good eye, that Jack’s whole body is being more and more relaxed by the second. Not only in the jelly-boned type lax, but also mind numbing and sleep calling lax. The heavy breath he saw when he entered the bedroom has loosen, only hitched by gasps and hisses of contentment. The frown that almost always crinkle Jack’s forehead is also smoothed out. Reinhardt smiles, glad that he can be any use for the ex strike commander.

 

The giant is applying the salve when Jack jolts awake. Reinhardt doesn’t really notice that Jack has nodded off for minutes and he quite regret his manhandling–soft at it was. Shushing Jack, Reinhardt keeps on rubbing the board, blemished back with tepid gel until the panicked eyes blink back into  focus.

 

“Sorry, Schatzi.”

 

“Wil? Ah, it’s alright–” Jack nods to himself, “yeah, I’m okay.”

 

Reinhardt can see he isn’t but knows better than to push into the matter. Instead, he spread the salve abundantly to the body parts that cannot be detached from metal and carbon fiber. Rubbing, touching, kneading and brushing every inch of skin, mapped into laceration and gun wounds, interconnected with titanium and aluminium into ridges that is Jack Morrison. Somehow, the physical contact help, Jack seems to be a lot calmer, even though he isn’t so lax like before. But Reinhardt understands his lover’s body, he knows what he must do to make the younger man sleeps again, and he will make sure that Jack sleep well tonight.

 

Reinhardt excused himself to lift the other man from the bed and lays on the same spot. Cleverly, he props himself to the headboard, back tops two pillows and takes Jack’s back into his chest. This is their good to go sleeping form in tiny barracks or small beds, something they have done thousands of times before and after the crisis, but the first time after the recall. Jack tiredly glances back to catch Reinhardt’s eye and smile softly.

 

“Oh, Wil, just like the old times?”

 

“Just like the old times.” Reinhardt answers with his own smile.

 

The day is spent like that, Jack napping on a bulk of a Crusader–body warm and barred from pain for a long while–and Reinhardt pampering Jack into his much needed rest. Reinhardt kiss and caress and cuddle for hours, enjoying the monotonous breath Jack has and the beautiful visage his lover always has. Such a beautiful day from a tiring start, something that Reinhardt is willing to get through again and again if it means he has a handful of happy and loved and content Jack.

**Author's Note:**

> According to [this article](https://broadly.vice.com/en_us/article/7xp8xz/what-does-men-actually-smell-like), Chypre is the type of fragrance that German men like to use.  
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> [Hit me up on twitter? (´ω`)/](https://twitter.com/_m0sq)


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